


the best story that i could ever tell/ is the one where i am growing old with you

by circumlocute



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cooking, Davekat but they're stable and fulfilled adults: the fic: the movie: the experience: the journey, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Food Porn, M/M, Married Couple, Paleontologist Dave and Chef Karkat, entirely gratuitous descriptions of food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 09:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14186286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circumlocute/pseuds/circumlocute
Summary: Dave finishes grad school, so Karkat treats him to breakfast and a lazy morning in.





	the best story that i could ever tell/ is the one where i am growing old with you

**Author's Note:**

> And I said to myself, what is the single most self-indulgent thing I could write?

When Dave wakes up to the sunlight streaming through his window, his first reaction is panic. Fuck, fuck, he’ll be late for class, he’s already late, fuck, he’s--he’s not late? He’s not. He relaxes back against the pillows and pulls the comforter up to his chin. Dave’s not late, because he finally fucking graduated. No more classes! No more getting up at five in the fucking morning. No more pouring over his dissertation until the letters on the screen start to blur together. He’s free!

...Well. At least until he gets a job. He’s going to give himself a few weeks, though, just to kick back and relax. He deserves it! Fucking, hell yes he deserves it, he’s going to make Karkat put on a tie and take him somewhere nice, like _really nice,_ and he’s going to order a tiny portion of some food he can’t pronounce and it’ll be great.

Right now, though, what Dave really wants is to sleep in some more. He rolls over and closes his eyes, and before long he’s asleep again.

When he next wakes up, it’s to the smell of bacon coming from downstairs. Oh, fuck _yes._ Karkat’s cooking breakfast, there is literally nothing better on this earth. Except for actually eating it. When Dave was slogging through undergrad classes, Karkat was on his way to becoming the angriest chef in the country. Studying things he already liked wasn’t working out; he ended up getting into arguments with the professors, but he’d never been much of a cook. And as much as he denies it, Karkat is _such_ a mother hen; feeding people is just another way to fuss over them. So when Dave suggested culinary arts, Karkat gave it a shot and _actually liked it._ Hallelujah amen.

Hence breakfast. It smells better the longer Dave stays in bed, so it’s not long before he stretches and gets up. He puts on his favorite anatomically-inaccurate dinosaur slippers and heads downstairs towards the source of the smell.

When he gets to the kitchen, Karkat doesn’t notice him right away, so Dave opts to watch for a little bit. Karkat cooking is a fucking sight to see, okay, and Dave’s always a little in shock—this is the same person who ate hot pockets that were cold in the middle with Dave on their first date. Now, though. Karkat’s in a t-shirt, sweatpants with little crabs on them, and the apron Dave bought him. It is Dave’s favorite apron, it says “grumpy old man” and is basically perfect in every way. Karkat looks at once completely ridiculous and perfectly in his element. The nearly-permanent crease between his eyebrows is smoothed out, and when he scatters fillings onto the omelette he’s cooking Dave would go so far as to say he sees a hint of a smile.

Dave comes up behind him, resting his chin in the space between Karkat’s horns and wrapping his arms around his waist. Karkat makes a pleased chattering noise in his chest in response.

“Good morning, Chef Vantas. The menu smells great, I’m gonna leave a fantastic yelp review. Brunch with a view, fuck yeah. Sign me up.”

Just to make it clear exactly what view he’s talking about, Dave slides one of his hands back for a generous handful of prime Vantas booty. Karkat folds the omelette and doesn’t react.

“If you distract me this is going to burn, and I don’t care how many PhDs you have, I’m not going to make you another one.”

“Me? I’m not being distracting.” Dave leans down to kiss Karkat’s cheek. “Best behavior, see? No funny business here. Stand up is dead and you killed it.”

“Mm-hmm.” Karkat sounds unconvinced as he puts the omelette on a plate. That’s fair, Dave _does_ still have a hand on his ass. He’s willing to behave for exactly as long as it takes to get fed, though.

Karkat switches the stove off and turns around. He cups Dave’s face in his hands and pulls him down for a quick, chaste kiss. Probably for the best; morning breath is not sexy.

“There.” Karkat leans back and gives Dave an undeniably fond look. “Good morning, Doctor Strider-Vantas.”

“Oh shit, I like the sound of that. I should put a credentials page on SBaHJ.” Dave leans in for another kiss, but Karkat dodges.

“Go sit down before this gets cold, dipshit.”

“Call me doctor again.”

Karkat rolls his eyes and swats Dave’s ass when he turns towards the table. Once Dave’s situated, it’s not long before Karkat turns around with a plate in each hand.

Dave thought the omelette looked good; everything together looks like an instagrammer’s wet dream brought to life. Plating isn’t Karkat’s strong suit, he doesn’t have an eye for composition, but everything looks delicious regardless. There’s a stack of fluffy pancakes with bite size pieces of bacon on top, and syrup drizzled liberally over everything. Then, of course, there’s the omelette. Dave is the only one who knows how many eggs were sacrificed over the years so that Karkat could perfect the ratio of fillings to omelette, fold it without breaking it, and get it all out of the pan in one piece. But god _damn_ if it didn’t pay off. Troll Gordon Ramsay couldn’t do better than Karkat, in Dave’s humble totally unbiased opinion.

“Dude, holy shit.”

Karkat sets the plates down and preens for a moment. There’s not much Karkat lets himself feel smug over, but he is undeniably fucking _good_ at this. Dave’s more than willing to indulge a little preening.

“Hang on, I started coffee.”

Dave slides down his chair and flops an arm over his face in a mock swoon. “Oh my god, marry me.”

“I already did.” Dave can see Karkat’s tiny, reluctant smile in his mind’s eye just as well as if they were facing each other, and when he turns around with two steaming mugs, there it is. He even used Dave’s very favorite coffee mug that says “santa’s #1 ho.”

Dave takes the mug when Karkat offers it to him and blows on it. “No latte art? For shame, man, your yelp review just lost half a star.”

Karkat snorts and sits down across from him. “Do I look like a fucking barista, Dave?”

“Well, you’re still wearing the apron, so…”

“If I knew how the _fuck_ you get pictures into coffee foam, I would draw a middle finger in there, just for you.”

Dave snickers. He sits up straighter and decides to attack the stack of pancakes first, because those glazed bacon pieces are calling his name. “Hello, Dave, I’m so delicious, please put me in your face and also your stomach.”

And really, that’s a compelling argument. There’s no way Dave could resist. He cuts a generous wedge with his fork and does his best to fit as much pancake into his mouth at once as is humanly possible.

Karkat raises his eyebrows. “Well?”

It’s incredible. The bacon and syrup are rich, but the pancakes themselves are fluffy, buttery, and not _too_ sweet. There’s tiny pieces of fruit cooked in, cooked to the perfect texture; just slightly firm without detracting from the pancakes themselves. There’s a lot going on, but it all _works_ without a hitch. Dave moans and slides down a little further in his chair.

“Oh my god.”

“Yes?” Karkat hasn’t started eating his yet, probably because he’s working himself up into an anxious mess worrying about it being perfect. Dave raises his hand in a thumb’s-up.

“Oh my god.”

“That’s me, yeah.” Anxiety averted. Karkat smirks and starts in on his own plate.

“You know what? I’ll allow it, I’m not convinced a mortal could make something this fucking good. Fuck.”

Karkat’s cheeks go red. “You’re spewing crumbs everywhere, nasty ass.”

Dave takes a sip of coffee to wash down any lingering crumbs trying to launch themselves out of his mouth. “Seriously though, dude, this is incredible. What fruit is in these, is that apple?”

“Yeah.” Karkat shrugs. “I mean, you like them, this is for you, and I thought it’d help tie everything together to have apple kind of carry through the entire thing. And to make sure you don’t feel like you’ve got a boulder in your bilesack after eating this fucking...decadent garbage. Lifts it up, I guess.” He waves his hand in a vague gesture.

Dave swerves around the garbage description. No self-loathing today, no sir. “Apple in _everything?”_

“That’s what I said.”

“Dude, did you put apple in my eggy burrito?”

“You’ll have to find out.” Karkat takes a bite of his own eggy burrito and shrugs like he doesn’t know exactly what he put in there.

“Apple in my _coffee?_ Am I gonna find a wedge of honeycrisp down there in the sludge of creamer and sugar?”

Karkat snorts. “Okay, fuck you, it’s not in everything. That’s normal coffee, because once again, I am not a barista. Not even for you.”

“Boring.”

“Eat your breakfast, bitch.”

“That’s Doctor Bitch to you, bitch.”

“Eat your breakfast, Doctor Bitch.”

Dave obliges, making swift work of the pancakes before they get cold. The syrup is thicker than usual, it’s more of a glaze. He’s pretty sure the bacon was cooked in it, and every bite is a fucking mouthgasm. The bacon is a crisp, crunchy counterpoint to the pancakes, and the syrup has just enough of that smoky flavor to infuse the pancakes with a little savory richness even when there’s no actual bacon on his fork.

“Dude, I think you’ve ruined me for normal food. I’m gonna want this every day.”

“Fuck no.” Karkat gives him a flat look. “I got up at like five AM and made all these goddamn pancakes, I’d have to _live_ in the mealblock.”

“You look cute in an apron, though.” Dave snickers and finishes off the last of his pancakes. “ _Just_ an apron.”

Karkat raises one eyebrow. Dave waggles his in response, but Karkat’s deadpan doesn’t crack.

“No, man, think about it. I come home from the dig site, all covered in dirt and tired from a hard day’s work, or covered in papercuts from filling out forms I guess, and there you are making soup or something? And we make out on the kitchen counter.”

“And then I get grit in my mouth from the fine layer of dirt covering your entire body, _and_ third degree burns on my bare ass when we inevitably knock the pot of soup or whatever over. I think I’ll pass, thanks, I like being able to sit.”

“Okay, fair, new plan.” Dave takes a sip of his coffee and starts cutting himself a piece of his mystery omelette. “ _I_ go to the dig site in an apron and only an apron, and then when I come home you rub sunburn lotion on my bootycheeks.”

Karkat chokes on his bite of pancake. When he recovers, he gives Dave an incredulous look.

“What is it with you and aprons and naked asses? Is this some sort of fixation you’ve got going on?” He gets a devious glint in his eye. Oh, no. “You know, I took that one psychology course--”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes, motherfucker.”

“Not this. Anything but this. You’re never allowed to hang out with Rose again.”

“I think we should really dig into why you’re so stuck on this. Get into your psyche with one of those...what are they called, the pointy thing in your bag?”

“A rock hammer?”

“Yes! Smack a rock hammer around your pan a few times and see what shakes loose.”

“...I dunno, man, sounds kinda indelicate. You might lobotomize me before I can enjoy my eggurrito.”

Karkat leans back in his chair and gives Dave one of those squinty-eye expressions where he’s just barely holding back a smile. “Then actually eat it instead of talking about my glutes or I really will lobotomize you.”

Dave takes a bite and says something like “mffuck nyouf” around the omelette. Karkat’s withering expression could kill entire rainforests.

The omelette, though, it could bring all those rainforests back. It has a surprisingly delicate flavor in comparison to the pancakes, and is lightly sweet. The eggs are just a little creamy, there’s some kind of cheese in there, and there’s _definitely_ apple, too. It’s not really something Dave would have thought was a viable combo, but. Fuuuuck. It might actually be better than the pancakes.

“This should not be legal,” Dave says after a moment to process the shindig that just went down in his mouth. “This should not be _possible._ Fruit isn’t supposed to be good in eggs, what the fuck, that is incredible.”

Karkat grins. “Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

“What’s in there? I mean, besides the apple.” Dave pokes some of the cheese with his fork to emphasize what he’s talking about. “Mozzarella?”

“Ew, why would I put mozzarella with apple in an omelette?”

“I dunno, I’m not the cheeseologist here, I’m familiar with like, four cheeses. And two of them are cheese dust and cheese whiz.”

“Those do _not_ count, you fucking trashvermin. It’s brie.”

“Ohhh. It’s really good.” Dave...only has the vaguest idea of what brie is. He’s _definitely_ not a cheeseologist. Maybe if you buried the cheese for a few million years.

Karkat snorts. “You said that.”

“And I’m saying it again.” Dave takes another bite and points at Karkat with his fork for added emphasis. “It’s _really good,_ dude. Like, one of the best things I’ve ever eaten levels of good. You’re amazing at this. _You’re_ amazing.”

“You’re laying it on a little thick, aren’t you.” Karkat coughs and ducks his face to cover a blush that’s already spreading down to his neck.

“Like peanut butter on a badly-made pb&j, my good dude.” Dave shrugs. “But it’s all true, man? I’m not saying this shit just to make you feel better, I’m not eating this because I feel like I gotta. I’m doing it because I like it, because my fucking husband woke up at like, what, five in the morning? When he never gets any sleep as it is, and made me a gourmet meal _just because,_ because he’s great like that.”

Karkat’s looking at Dave incredulously, like he still can’t believe Dave’s not just manufacturing all this praise to spare his feelings. And that just won’t do.

“Like. Dude. Karkat. I feel like you don’t get how fucking nice this is. This had to be so much work, it was downright goddamn sweet of you, man. And I want you to know that, okay, you’re fucking great and you’re so fucking good to me and the least I can do is tell you that sometimes, man. If you hate it I’ll knock it off, but sometimes I just gotta whip out the emotional peanut butter and slather it on.” He laughs, a little ruefully. “Call it makin’ up for lost time.”

Karkat is...sniffling, aw, no, fuck. Dave moves to stand, but Karkat makes this weird _rhssst_ noise and holds up his hand.

“Don’t. I’m fine, I’ve got pepper in my eye."

Dave raises an eyebrow, but sits back down. “Babe...”

“Shut up and eat that, it’s getting cold,” Karkat snaps, although he wilts a second later and sighs. “Ugh, I just. Sorry, I still have a hard time, uh. Getting used to that and not flipping my shit into orbit whenever someone says anything vaguely nice about me. And this is supposed to be about _you,_ not me and my stupid histrionics.”

Dave folds the rest of the omelette and stabs it with his fork. Hmm. “So howsabout I eat this and then we go back to bed and cuddle for a bit?”

“Do _you_ want to cuddle in bed?”

“Is that even a question, dude? I would do nothing but cuddle in bed for the next sixty-five years if I wouldn’t get some heinous man-stink going on.” On that lovely note, Dave shoves the rest of the omelette into his mouth and grins back at Karkat, whose expression is somewhere between “amused” and “horrified.” Dave grins wider; a piece of apple threatens to escape. The best way to cheer Karkat up is to give him something to be offended over, Dave has done research. That followed by snuggling up on him in bed. Which, coincidentally, also cheers Dave up. Win-win.

“Oh, jesus, what did I do to deserve this! Why are you so gross?” Karkat covers his eyes and lifts his middle finger vaguely in Dave’s direction. “We can cuddle as soon as you stop being a vile fucking nut creature.”

Score. Dave manages to get the rest of the omelette down without choking himself on it and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Scoffing, Karkat unties his apron and drapes it over the back of his chair before piling up his dishes. Oh, right, yeah. Cleaning. Is a thing they need to do. Can’t have dried on egg pieces on there or whatever. Dave stacks all his dishes up too and leans over to kiss Karkat on the cheek. He’s warm and smells like flour and spices; dude probably got some in his hair or something. It’s nice, though? It’s homey. Domestic as hell. It’s definitely not something Dave ever expected to be normal.

He didn’t expect to be married, either, though. Or to ever be an _actual, real-life_ paleontologist. They’re probably going to start getting letters addressed to Dr. and Mr. Strider-Vantas. What the fuck. And the weirdest, most surreal part is how it...actually doesn’t feel that wrong? Sometimes it feels like he got transplanted into someone else’s life, sure, but it feels _good._ Dave’s...happy. He’s living this ridiculous domestic life, and he actually willingly chose it. He likes his nerd job, likes having someone who wants to wake up early and make him breakfast and cuddle afterwards, instead of being some badass stoic ninja loner. Bro’s probably turning in his metaphorical, puppety grave.

Dave’s snapped out of his little stroll down memory lane by Karkat hip checking him and giving him a quizzical look.

“Earth to Dave, come in Dave.” Karkat puts his dishes in the sink and turns on the water, squirting soap into the basin. “I know you’ve got at least a couple brain cells in there, use them.”

Dave sticks his tongue out and adds his dishes to the sink. “Do you want some help with that, dude?”

Karkat snorts. “Just put them in there and let them soak, we can wash them later.”

“Oh, fuck, you read my mind.”

“Mm, not much to read with how you’re zoning out.” Karkat turns off the sink and dries his hands on the hem of Dave’s shirt, because he is a little bastard. He smirks, too, at Dave’s offended noise, and completes his evil scheme by going up on his toes for another brief kiss.

“...Let’s brush our teeth first, though.” Karkat uses the hands still holding onto Dave’s shirt to tug him towards the bathroom. Unfortunately for both of them, Dave is a taller bastard, and he digs his heels in.

“We’re good, let’s just go upstairs, man.”

“Do you _want_ to find out what breakfast takes like on the inside of someone else’s mouth?”

Dave winces. “Ewww. No. I got mints in the nightstand upstairs, though! For mack emergencies such as these.”

Karkat does not seem convinced. “I don’t think that counts as brushing, Dave.”

“It totally does for this. The body doesn’t know, Karkat. It’s science.”

“That’s not--”

“Science.”

“Fine.” Karkat is very obviously biting the inside of his lip to keep from smiling. “Let’s go upstairs. If I taste so much as a hint of cheese I’ll carry you to the bathroom myself.”

“Oh no. Being carried. How terrible for me.”

Dave takes Karkat’s hand and starts heading towards the stairs, laughing.


End file.
